


We were hungry before we were born

by babyRage_lyla



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Fix-It of Sorts, Getting Together, Implied FëanorianOT8, M/M, Past Mpreg, Sibling Incest, Uncle/Nephew Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 17:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20549777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyRage_lyla/pseuds/babyRage_lyla
Summary: Maglor and Celebrimbor meet after centuries, Maglor reveals an old secret and things take an unexpected turn.





	We were hungry before we were born

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna (elwinfortuna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwinfortuna/gifts).

“How do I know you're not making this all up?” Celebrimbor asked, his chest still heaving. His breathing had settled, but his heart refused to stop racing. His mind was in a turmoil, too. Pulling out of his uncle – who was, apparently, not _just_ his uncle – might help, but fucking Maglor after not seeing him for centuries had happened so naturally and he was afraid if he pulled out he would forget how good it felt, how satiating, and start regretting.

“How could I make something like that up?” Maglor asked back drowsily, his curls tangled on the worn-out pillow. “Just look yourself in the mirror.”

“Look myself in the mirror?” Celebrimbor managed to sound almost outraged. He had not just stared at his reflection for longer than would be considered normal, and more frequently than would be considered healthy. 

He often felt as if he was the mirror. 

The few people still living who had met Curufin sometimes told him that they were a little upset by their resemblance. The much fewer people who had known Fëanor spoke of an outright freakish resemblance.

“Father – my father, your father – was sitting behind Curufinwë, holding him tight with his arms wrapped around Curufinwë's shoulders. Curufinwë wanted to be awake, you see, but he couldn't be allowed to trash around, so the twins were holding his legs down too with all their weight on them. Turcafinwë was the one who cut you from him and Morifinwë stitched him back up. I was the one who held you first.” The picture came alive in Celebrimbor's mind as Maglor's words slowed down and thrummed into silence, and for a split second he actually saw himself, as a baby, in Maglor's arms. “And now you hold me for last. Or maybe it's first, in a way. Or well...there isn't anybody else to hold me now.” 

Celebrimbor shook himself from the reverie – not the best move, given how he was still so deliciously sheathed inside Maglor. “Why are you telling me this now,” he gasped out, casting a frowning look over the bed and their joined bodies.

Maglor shifted his legs, nearly pulling Celebrimbor on top of himself again, then drew two fingers down the side of his face and propped them under his chin. Celebrimbor leant in closer without meaning to. 

“Why?” Maglor stared straight into his eyes and laughed. The sound reverberated in Celebrimbor's body and made his cock twitch some more. Then Maglor said: “Because the sight of you is too painful, and your touch is too sweet.”

Celebrimbor heaved a strangled breath. He couldn't take it. He gritted his teeth and pulled out before he got to the point that he would need to fuck Maglor again. He didn't want to just yet. Couldn't. The sound of his cock popping out of his uncle was almost too much on its own. He didn't even go completely soft. He cursed. He should have just ignored Maglor when Maglor came to him in a dream. But when Maglor came to him in a dream Celebrimbor wasn't ready for it, wasn't ready for his longing surging like a wave and crashing down on him and dragging him away from Eregion and all the way to this desolate place where even wild animals didn't seem to want to abide.

“If you and your brothers and your father all...fucked one another, how are you so sure it was Fëanáro – my father?”

“He could tell. Curufinwë could tell.”

“But how could it come to be that –”

Maglor shrugged. “Curufinwë would have ripped his heart out with his own hands for Father.” 

Celebrimbor's mouth fell shut. What else was there to ask?

Maglor kept staring at him in silence until he dozed off. When Maglor was asleep Celebrimbor stood from the bed and did wobble out of the bedroom in search of a mirror. He avoided debris and dirt, but bits of dry leaves and rock stuck to his bare feet and made him scrunch his face. 

There was a cracked, stained mirror in a corridor, lit by sun rays drifting in through the unhinged door. He steeled himself and stood before it. 

The face gazing back at him was disjointed and half-shadowed. 

He reached a hand to it, tracing the strong line of his jaw, his chin, up to his lips. He had to graze over a jagged, scar-like fissure to get to his cheekbone, and a memory submerged by the years swam back to the surface of his mind. 

Once, on an exceptionally sunny evening in Himlad, he had seen a scar on Curufin's lower belly. When Celebrimbor asked him what it was, Curufin had lowered his eyes to it and replied it was from the happiest moment in his life. 'Scar' and 'happiest moment' were such an odd combination, especially if you thought of uncle (brother) Maedhros, but Celebrimbor hadn't pointed this out to his father (mother).

He leant his forehead against the mirror.

He vaguely remembered Fëanor using a special name for him – not the name itself, just the thrill in Fëanor's voice and how radiant he was when he lifted him in his arms, like all the bliss of the trees had been soaked up by his smile. The warmth of that smile had never completely dissipated. 

“You could have told me...” he told his reflection, but didn't really believe it. By the time he was an adult Fëanor was gone and Curufin was left with a child he wasn't supposed to have borne and an Oath he wasn't supposed to have sworn. Curufin's determination to get the Silmarils back took on a completely new meaning. It was easy to take it for cruelty, for foolish, stubborn pride – Celebrimbor usually nodded along when people thought the best way to show sympathy for him was to heap insults on his father. 

“I'm sorry,” he murmured and squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn't want to remember when he had last seen Curufin in Nargothrond and Curufin had been smiling, probably happy because he thought him safe. Probably still hoping to regain the Silmarils and meet him again and finally tell him. Celebrimbor couldn't stop his mind from wandering to an alternate reality where Curufin did get the Silmarils back and did come back for him and they talked and made peace and Curufin told him everything. 

His head hurt when he finally left the mirror and went back to the bed. Maglor had rolled over on his side, and didn't wake up when Celebrimbor slid in behind him or when Celebrimbor lifted his left leg and nudged his wet opening.

He dug his fingertips into Maglor's skin and slid himself in as if he had been fucking Maglor all his life. 

He was welcomed by the hot, clinging passage, slick with his own seed. 

Maglor mumbled in his sleep and covered his free hand with one of his own. 

“Uncle,” Celebrimbor moaned as he slowly slid out and thrust in again, only to remind himself with new-found clarity that Maglor was also his brother and his lover, like he had been his father and mother's lover. 

There was something so stupid, so empty about all those words, and all the flimsy boundaries they created where a kiss or a whisper or misplaced seed could so easily wipe them out completely.

He only needed to thrust inside Maglor a couple of times to sweep all words from his mind. 

He fucked Maglor so hard that the creaky, musty bed sounded like it might just give way at any moment. He fucked Maglor with abandon, and all but passed out after he came. 

When he woke up Maglor was not in bed with him, but he could hear his humming outside. The same humming that had drawn him out here in the wilderness.

Outside it was noon and Maglor, wrapped in a soiled sheet, was picking berries.

Naked, Celebrimbor strode over to him. Maglor turned and smiled up at him, offering him a handful of the overripe fruit. Celebrimbor lifted the berries to his mouth, barely tasting the sweetness. He ate the last, half-squished against Maglor's skin, and returned the offering with a lingering kiss.

“Tyelperinquar,” Maglor called tenderly.

“What should we do?” Celebrimbor said, like a devoted soldier awaiting orders. 

Yesterday afternoon, he had vehemently told Maglor that he would never leave Eregion and dismissed the notion that Annatar was actually Sauron. Now, Celebrimbor would have wanted Annatar out of the way even if Annatar had really been an angel sent by the Valar to help poor elves in Middle-Earth. He didn't need the Valar's charity. They weren't going to let him meet his parents ever again and he couldn't live with that. To the Valar, he was surely just another one of his family's abominations. Celebrimbor who was Fëanor and Curufin's son couldn't go back to Eregion and pretend there was something he cared about more than meeting his parents again. Celebrimbor who was Fëanor and Curufin's son wouldn't be welcome anywhere, anyway. 

He wanted to belong. 

Maglor let go of the bedsheet and pushed Celebrimbor back. Celebrimbor found himself sitting on the grass with his back pressed against a tree trunk that was smooth and sturdy.

Maglor smoothly knelt astride him and guided his half-hard cock to his entrance. Celebrimbor's hands landed on Maglor's sides, while he looked up at his uncle-brother-lover expectantly. Maglor eased his cockhead in, took some of his length too and paused to lay his hands on Celebrimbor's shoulders. Celebrimbor's mouth parted and Maglor covered it with his own, sticking his tongue inside to stroke Celebrimbor's own. The kiss was loud and messy. The purple from the berries mixed with their saliva and dribbled down their chins and they vied with each other to clean it up. 

“He is trying to make a ring that will control all other rings you have made with him. He doesn't know about the rings you made on your own.” Maglor licked Celebrimbor's lower lip, nibbled on it as he sank down the last bit of the way. “You have your three, I have two of the Silmarils.”

“Two?” Celebrimbor's voice came out unsteady and shrill.

“Do not listen to stupid fables,” Maglor said with a smirk, squeezing his ass muscles just a little – enough to make Celebrimbor shiver – and lifting himself up right after. “Maedhros wanted to die, that is true, but I didn't let him. Oh I didn't. He simply needed rest, so I eased him out of his skin, so he can rest without the burden of his body.”

“Eas– eased him out of his skin?”

Maglor's smirk turned into a dimpled smile, that one smile of his you had to be wary of. A chill ran down Celebrimbor's back as Maglor leisurely sat on his cock again. 

“I could do that to you too. You would be safe so long as I kept your skin with me.”

“Where is Maedhros's skin?”

Maglor chuckled then locked their lips again and raised himself again, starting a drowsy rhythm that lulled Celebrimbor and made him desperately crave for more at the same time. 

“He has been angry with me for the past few centuries, I fear.”

“Has he?” Celebrimbor panted. “I...am..._sort_ of angry with you, too.”

“Are you?” Maglor licked his lips as if he was planning an arch reply but instead he kept riding Celebrimbor's cock, every descent ending with a loud smacking sound. “Oh my sweet Tyelperinquar, Turcafinwë used to joke that you were Curufinwë's own Silmaril, a one-time wonder, peerless and unrepeatable. Now you can be like the third that I cannot reach.”

Celebrimbor tried to say something but Maglor kissed him again and sat on his thighs, rocking his hips back and forth. 

“I will get that back for you you, uncle...brother,” Celebrimbor stammered when he had enough breath to, and blushed.

“We will get _them all_ back, baby brother,” Maglor promised in a hoarse whisper. “My own star, twice of Father.”

Celebrimbor wrapped his arms around Maglor and sank his face in Maglor's shoulder. He came sooner than he would have liked to, but Maglor came too not long after, and returned his hug.

“I love you, Tyelperinquar.”

“I should have looked for you centuries ago. I thought –...I wanted – ”

“Hush, everything is fine now.”

“You travelled 'out here' with a hammer and assorted tools?” Maglor asked as they sat at the newly-restored table on newly-restored chairs to dine from brand new bowls. 

Celebrimbor looked up from his visually unappealing food – a heap of roots and insects that were safe to eat and that Celebrimbor agreed to eat only because with all the time they spent fucking he was so famished he would have gobbled up the bowl and chair and table too.

“Father, I mean Moth– ...I mean Curufinwë –”

“You don't need to start calling him differently,” Maglor interrupted, softly but assuredly. 

Celebrimbor nodded, even though he didn't agree. There had to be a more encompassing way to call Curufin, a word or a phrase that would convey everything that Curufin was to him. He sighed. “He taught me to always take basic tools with me, wherever I went.”

“And you inherited his penchant for tidiness, too.”

“Well, there may be no big animals to worry about in these parts but I don't like the idea of you sharing your house with every last bit of dirt out there. And you may be happy to sing the cold away, but I will worry for you.”

“I did fine for so long, you know.”

Celebrimbor was about to be dismayed, but Maglor smiled.

“I'm glad that you worry about me,” he said and reached over the table to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Do you mind if I tell you a few more things you need to know while we eat? You need to go back to Eregion soon, before he grows too suspicious. I wouldn't want to have to take...drastic measures.”

“Of course not.”

Maglor started going over a list of scenarios but Celebrimbor found himself staring at him rather than paying attention to what he was saying. 

Maglor was beautiful, but not in a pleasing way. The curls that fell over his shoulders had the sheen of coal: a promise of warmth hand-in-hand with a threat of burning. His eyes, restlessly sparkling, spun their own song. Maglor's beauty was a beauty like climbing over a bottomless chasm, like being on the verge of going mad. Celebrimbor could not have told if Maglor's looks had been so unsettling in the First Age, too. They hadn't seen each other often after settling in Beleriand, and besides Maglor had not been all the things he now was back then. Celebrimbor doubted separating fëar from their bodies was among the things a singer usually learnt from the Valar.

“Tyelperinquar, if we fail there won't be a second chance for your parents, either. Ever.”

Maglor raised his voice, and his words sliced icily through Celebrimbor's thoughts. He blinked and tore his gaze away from Maglor's face.

“After we're done, you can spend all the time in the world staring at me, but now listen to me.”

In the end, all their carefully drawn up plans didn't stand a chance against Maedhros's long, _long_ built-up wrath.

Sauron didn't stand a chance either, though he did stand on his own two feet to the very end - _his_ end. Celebrimbor had been there, but he only remembered being petrified with fear while Maedhros looked for all intents and purposes to be sucking the life out of a maia, and relishing it.

Now having worn his skin again Maedhros sat next to Maglor and across from Celebrimbor on the floor of the old human-built house, the two Silmarils finally out of hiding between them.

Celebrimbor had almost forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful Maedhros was. Being unhoused for so long had definitely done both his soul and his body good. Fire-hot wrath became him, too, and Maedhros _was_ still angry at Maglor.

“I know how to bring them back,” Maedhros said to neither of them in particular, but casting glances at Maglor every now and then as if he was deliberating how he wanted to fuck him or how to most satisfactorily murder him. 

Celebrimbor was jealous, and did nothing to hide it.

Maedhros grinned. “Don't you want to meet Father again, Tyelperinquar?”

“You don't need to ask me that.”

“Oh you don't have to worry about Canafinwë here...I just want my fair share.”

“I saved you,” Maglor cut in, without a glimmer of regret or guilt in his voice.

Maedhros narrowed his eyes at him. “And I you.”

Celebrimbor stood up. “Well, we're all three alive, and as far as I am concerned that warrants a small celebration.” He stepped over the Silmarils, pulled Maglor to his feet and lifted him in his arms. “Will you join us, brother?”

He started in the direction of the bedroom, but for a split second he did fear that Maedhros was going to pop out of his body again and hurl himself at him as a fireball. 

When Maedhros caught up to them there was only warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a lot more, but RL got in the way, especially wrt Maedhros - the inspiration for what happens to Maedhros here is the Caribbean/Central American soucouyant, a vampire who travels as a ball of fire after shedding its (human-like) skin (Fëanor burning out of his body upon death could totally be seen a misinterpreted soucouyant tradition, I feel).


End file.
